It's Time...

My heart feels high on RedBull tonight. It’s been swinging left to right all evening. Restless, like a murderer waiting to hear the siren of the police cars approaching his hideout. Knowing something terrible was inevitably going to occur towards to end of this waiting time. I breathe in and I hold my breath, eyes closed, mind alert. Completely aware of this moment, this too shall pass. I breathe out wafts of warm air, sighing deeper every time. Another second gone, one more step away from you.
I don’t wish for the time to stop, my thoughts are tied by my own realism. I can’t wish to lie in your arms here, forever, that’s not what life is about. Ironically, I don’t even have the privilege to wish for something as real as having you next to me all the time. My last name, your ethnicity, our nations, stand like great walls barring every wish, every hope, every dream that I could’ve had, that I deserved to have.
The room is dim, the lights are off, we lie down snuggled on your rickety bed that makes scary noises every time one of us moves. This bed, where we first hugged, where we first kissed. This bed that has the stinkiest, dullest, wrinkliest grey bed sheet that hasn’t been changed since I first stepped into this room. This room, that gave me fits of claustrophobia, but what I called home. The dust particles that should pay you a rent to stay here. The dust that now feels so familiar, it emits a homely smell.
The sun that eavesdropped into our lives through those windows, the rain that fell on the mud outside to leave a marshy intoxicating smell hovering over the room, over you, over me, over us. The faint smell of Jasmine from the bush outside wrapped inside the warm familiar fragrance of your Kenneth Cole perfume,  in cold January nights. The breeze that entered your room just to push me closer to you, right into your cuddle where I beamed, all smug and smitten.
The exhibition on your table, of books, of perfumes, of food and what not. Products of survival that supported two lives in the space for one.
 Tea, lots and lots of tea, something you can’t live without. Food, enough to feed a million hungry mouths, but never enough for us hungry sloths. Coke, Oh those million cans that you collect to use as ash trays. Wires, of laptops and lamps and hair dryers and cell phones and devices that have funny names. Wires, enough to make a robot. Lying shamelessly, entangled with each other, just like us.
You look at me, with your drunken eyes. Eyes that are saying something you won’t. Eyes that have sadness peeping out, of restricted hopes, barred desires. I interpret a language we never created, never learnt. I know what those eyes say, I know because I feel the same way. I get up, detach myself from your embrace. I don’t want to cry. You don’t want me to go. We both want time to stop, and then we both snap out of it and back into realism.
You bend forward and reach the a packet of little cylinders of life. You light a fag with a lighter you stole from one of your friends and let out a huff of smoke.Eyes shut tight. Another drag, you seem to be calming down . Inhale, the bigger the drag the more the fine lines around your tightly locked eyes dissappear. Puff, puff, puff! The smoke, it glides in and then slides out. First, a bit from your mouth, then from your nose and the rest is thrown out in the shape of rings. Rings, I wear to make me feel yours. Rings that disapear like you will someday.
The magic stick is consumed, all that remains is ashes. You use the can of coke to dispose the bud, then look at me and smile half-heartedly.
You crack a joke. I smirk, then look at you laughing. Those veins bursting out of your neck, that tear dried up right under your left eye. It makes me sad, no, it makes me sadder. But I won't cry. I'm strong, no, I shall pretend to be strong for you.
You yawn. It's contagious. Soon theres another one, and then one more and then you slip me in your arms, my head is on your chest. I can hear you breath, you can feel me yawning. We're both drugged with sleep, but this night is a prized possession. I don't want it to pass, you don't want me to pass. We're talking, about yesterday, and the day before and the one before that. I'm lost in thought, you're lost too, we cross the permeable line between thoughts and dreams.
The phone is blaring, its the darned alarm. The sun showns its vindictive laughter. The sadist knows just how badly we detest it at the moment. It's a day I usually wait for all around the year, it's my birthday. but neither have I waited for this day, nor am I delighted. You look at me, helpless, bewildered. We'd never expected this to be this hard. It's time for us to leave, this room and perhaps, it's owner. I'm shivering, but its May. You want me to sit, but I'm restless. Why did I not prepare myself, wasn't this something obvious?
I'm oscillating left to right. One corner to another. Knowing that won't help. Knowing nothing would help. Knowing, it's time...